


Indelible

by Nana_41175



Series: 007 Fest Writings 2019 [3]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Wizards, Alternate Universe- Royalty, Drama & Romance, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2020-06-28 04:34:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19804861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nana_41175/pseuds/Nana_41175
Summary: Formerly known by the title "Bewitched"Written for the 007 Fest 2019's MI6 Cafe Prompt Exchange:  Fairy Tale AU!  Going for a cup or two of mead with friends is an excellent way of celebrating the acceptance into the ranks of the prestigious Royal Academy for Explosions, Alchemy & Magical Metallurgy… at least that’s what Q thought before he woke up the next morning and found his name (written in his own handwriting!) on a super-binding contract and a letter beginning with “Congratulations! You have successfully entered your name into the tournament for the hand of His Royal Majesty, King James VII, long may he reign! You will find detailed instructions in the appended parchment…”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (shakes head while eyes are squeezed tightly shut >_<) I AM NOT SUPPOSED TO BE STARTING NEW FICS WHEN I’VE GOT A TON OF WIPs BUT WHAT THE HECK…!!! This prompt is just too epic to let pass! Anyway, here goes! Welcome and enjoy!
> 
> And to everyone who first knew this fic as "Bewitched", I've decided to change the title to make it more reflective of the story.
> 
> Some additional tags: Arranged courtship; Q as a new wizarding Grandmaster; James as the King and also loves to go around his kingdom incognito along with his network of spies; duels with bad guys; and yes, lots of opportunity for romance and sexytimes!

**Additional Author's Notes:** Follow me at **[my tumblr](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/)** for more 00Q this entire month of July as we celebrate **007 Fest 2019!** Fic updates and teasers are posted regularly there. See you guys!

* * *

It was true that Q was not used to imbibing huge amounts of spirits, let alone hard liquor, and there lay the basis of his argument that he was not accountable for what happened next. Still, that managed to get him nowhere after he awoke the next day to find on his table the magical parchment and its outrageous contents, all agreed to and signed by himself, binding him to a series of actions which were beyond his scope and abilities.

It really was too much, by any reasonable standard.

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. We ought to start from the beginning. 

* * *

Last night started out normally enough. Innocently enough. After months of grueling examinations and personal trials, he’d emerged triumphant. It was no mean feat to be declared the youngest Grandmaster of the Royal Academy for Explosions, Alchemy and Magical Metallurgy. He was happy to be out with friends and was looking forward to relaxing and unwinding before the real work started. Already, he was being asked to the office of the First Minister— or M, as he was called among their set— the very next day for a formal introduction, so tonight was a long-deserved respite.

In fact, he had friends working in M’s office who came to the small party, bearing their warm congratulations: he’d known Eve Moneypenny and Bill Tanner from way back when he first started at the Royal Academy as an apprentice.

There were drinks all around, of course, but there was also an excellent dinner, and the kind of lively, intelligent conversation that Q did not mind having with close friends. Spending the past few months in near total isolation to concentrate on his unique projects had left him actually craving for company.

But then after dinner came more drinks, with the company dwindling until it was just the three of them. They’d since moved on to a more quiet, and expensive, drinking place that catered to exclusive clientele. They’d graduated from tankards of ale and mead to more serious stuff: smoky and potent amber liquids that were measured out in tiny quantities in exquisite glasses. Tanner insisted that he was paying. Q supposed he ought to start getting acquainted with this sort of thing as he would be dealing with more people from this sector of society from hereon.

“We hope you don’t mind, Q darling,” said Moneypenny, “but someone asked if he may come along and see you. Someone important.”

“I thought I will be seeing M tomorrow,” said Q, who could not think of anyone more important than that…except perhaps His Majesty the King.

“Oh, this one is quite important,” assured Tanner. He was not looking at Q; neither was Moneypenny. But Q was getting along in his cups that he did not really notice their averted gaze.

They talked on, exchanging amusing stories. Q was regaling them with accounts of the results of his last examination when he astonished the Board of the Royal Academy with his ingenious array of exploding magical pens when the Notable Person finally arrived.

Q could see that he was indeed really important, to judge from Tanner and Moneypenny’s reaction. They rose as he approached, his gait a distinctive, confident prowl. Taking in the man’s entire person, what instantly sprang to Q’s mind was _military._

 _Of course,_ Q thought.

Add to that a certain elegance of manner and ruggedly handsome looks, and the most arresting pair of pale blue eyes that Q had ever seen. He was quite the man, thought Q.

“Sir,” said Tanner when the stranger stopped in front of them.

Q tried to get up as well and realized that he was drunker than he thought when he stumbled on his feet a bit. The stranger smiled at him, and it had the effect of mellowing those piercing blue eyes until they looked almost friendly.

“No need to stand on ceremony,” he drawled, the words coming out in low, pleasant syllables that ran like a _frisson_ through Q. “Sit. Please.”

Once they were seated, the man proceeded even before Tanner could make the necessary introductions: “The name is Bond. James Bond. And you must be Q.”

Q opened his mouth but closed it again when he thought all he might produce was a hiccup. “Yes, sir,” he was able to bring forth after a moment.

James Bond’s smile widened. “And I am told that you were recently awarded the title of Grandmaster. The youngest ever in the history of the Royal Academy,” he said, his tone admiring. “That is quite an achievement. Congratulations.”

Q flushed and felt absurdly pleased by this man’s attention, his compliments. “Thank you, sir.”

“I’m sure I will be hearing this from M himself quite soon, but if I may ask ahead of him, what sort of magic do you specialize in?” queried Bond, all ears.

“Oh, well…” said Q, flustered. He stole a look at Moneypenny, who only gave him a wide-eyed look which could mean anything. She seemed unusually subdued in front of this man, as was Bill, which meant whoever this person was, he was indeed exceptionally significant. He’d never heard of M reporting to anyone else, or perhaps this was someone from His Majesty’s secret service.

 _That’s probably it,_ he thought.

Q proceeded to describe his line of work: incorporating magical spells into gadgets and various weaponry. He was also an expert in small and large-scale magical explosives and incendiary devices. He left out the best part, though, thinking it might be too sensitive even for the top brass to be aware of it at so early a stage in its development.

He’d started work on a device that could read the secrets of people’s hearts.

At any rate, the man in front of him seemed impressed enough as it was. While Q talked, he motioned for something to drink and was given a full bottle of the most expensive liquor in the house. It certainly seemed that way when Q tasted it, having been poured a generous glass by this very important man.

 _I can get used to this_ , Q thought, pleased.

They talked on, and the man seemed to know his questions because he asked several important ones. Through the pleasant haze of good alcohol, Q sensed that they were getting to something big at the end.

When it came, he should have known.

“I am very glad to hear of everything you’ve told me, Q,” said Bond. “Very glad indeed. And very relieved, that we have somebody like you on our side. Now, if I were to tell you that I have a very…vital proposition for you…”

He trailed off, eyebrows raised expectantly. Moneypenny and Tanner seemed taken aback, exchanging startled glances.

“Yes?” prompted Q.

“This is going to be raised by M sooner or later but I felt it would be more along my personal duty to do so,” said Bond. “It’s related to His Majesty’s…concerns.”

“I’m listening,” said Q, trying his best to pull himself together. He felt like floating off in a cloud of euphoria. Things were just getting better and better. He could sense a royal appointment, possibly even a huge royal concession or grant. It would be just what he needed to kickstart his projects as Grandmaster.

“It’s top secret, so not many people would be aware of it,” said Bond, glancing at Moneypenny and Tanner. “Right now, shall we say, the kingdom is not as secure as we would like it to be, given the status of the King.”

Q frowned. _Status?_

He wasn’t much of a royal watcher and had shut out all the unnecessary gossip that usually surrounded royalty. He’d not even seen much of the new King since his accession to the throne several months ago, except for a few grainy photographs in the occasional paper. He’d been shut off from the outside world like a hermit and now he blinked rather owlishly as the man sitting opposite him stared at him in frankly amused puzzlement.

Bond declined to expound though. “As I said, the King’s status is inviting some unwelcome attention from outsiders, and the matter is to be settled quite soon,” he merely said.

Q nodded sagely. “Right,” he said.

It would be best to go along with the flow in the hopes that more words from Bond would ultimately help him shed some light on the King’s status…whatever that meant.

“And so it comes to this, Q,” said Bond, finally warming to the topic at hand. “As Grandmaster, are you prepared to serve your King and Country?”

“I’d die for His Majesty,” said Q readily, solemnly.

Bond smiled widely. He had a charming smile that made all the wrinkles break out on his face, thought Q rather admiringly.

“I am very pleased to hear that,” Bond said, “though we’d rather not ask the ultimate sacrifice from you just yet. On the other hand, a written pledge would do very nicely.”

With that he opened his beautiful and obviously expensive fur-lined coat to take out a piece of folded parchment from within. “In fact, I happen to have the document ready,” he said.

“Sir,” interjected Moneypenny. “Would it not be more appropriate if this were done tomorrow in front of M?”

“Perhaps Q can bring the paper home tonight and—” Tanner said at the same time.

That was as far as they got before a pointed glance from Bond silenced them.

“This is just standard procedure,” Bond assured Q as he unfolded the parchment.

There were so many words, and in fine print, that Q had to squint to read some passages. They did not appear to be making much sense— too much formal jargon, though it did seem like a pledge of loyalty of some sort.

“A royal appointment as the King’s personal Wizard and Alchemist,” Bond intoned, “with all the privileges and monetary compensation suited to your new station. In addition, you get to keep your position as Grandmaster in the Royal Academy. All of that and more, Q, if you agree to sign this.”

“This was supposed to be brought up tomorrow at M’s?” said Q, feeling just the slightest glimmer of unease.

“It was, though we can save time and start the ball rolling now,” said Bond. “His Majesty will be pleased to learn of your acceptance tonight.”

Q paused, knowing he ought to think about this some more. If he’d only been looking at Moneypenny, he would have seen her wide-eyed look of alarm, the way she was minutely shaking her head in warning. The problem was, he wasn’t looking at her. He was too busy gazing at Bond, entirely captivated.

“For King and country, Q,” said Bond, his voice soft and persuasive. “I promise I shall see you through it.”

Q stared at him for a moment more. Then he smiled and said, “all right.”

* * *

Bond smiled at Q’s acquiescence. It was almost too easy.

“Excellent. If you’ll just sign here, Grandmaster,” said Bond smoothly and watched, almost pitying the hopelessly inebriated young man as he took up the offered quill to sign away his freedom with a flourish.

When the task was done, Bond nodded at Tanner and Moneypenny in silent satisfaction: _He’ll do._

He would do very well indeed, thought Bond. It also helped that the young Grandmaster was quite good-looking, and that he rather liked him. These were important points to consider, given the circumstances.

It was, overall, not a bad start to their relationship.

* * *

[Here's](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/post/187005371766/teaser-for-ch-2-of-my-00q-fairy-take-au-fic) the **teaser** for the next chapter! Enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

**Author’s Notes:** Hi everyone! I’ve decided on a title change for this fic, to better reflect the story. More notes at the end. Enjoy and do let me know what you think!

* * *

“Where have you been? You’re five minutes late,” hissed Moneypenny when Q came charging into M’s outer office the next day. He looked worse for wear, tired-looking and evidently still hung-over. Normally fastidiously neat, his clothes hung about him in disarray, as though he’d rushed through his morning— which he had.

Moneypenny came over, drawing her wand, and immediately tried to remedy Q’s appearance as best as she could. “You can’t go in looking like that. I’ve tried calling you about a hundred times—”

“Some kind of friend of you are,” snapped Q, fobbing away her wand motions as she magically tucked Q’s shirt tail neatly into his trousers, arranged his rumpled cardigan and straightened his tie. “Don’t come near me, you…you double-crosser.”

“I couldn’t do anything about last night—”

“Except you got me horribly drunk,” cried Q. “You and Tanner. Do you even realize what you’ve got me into? With friends like you, who needs—”

“Keep your voice down,” ordered Moneypenny as she raked through Q’s hair manually with her fingers, attempting to tame the wild locks that stood rebelliously in every direction; she’d realized immediately that no amount of grooming magic was going to help it.

“I’ve spent the entire morning trying to break that parchment’s spells and I _couldn’t,_ ” cried Q, angrily shaking her off and stepping away from her clutches. “It means the binding spells on that thing are genuine, and expertly done. None of the grandmasters in the Academy could help me.”

“Oh, Q,” said Moneypenny, her expression melting into helpless, apologetic sympathy. “We were under strict orders. Please, just hear us out—”

“Under orders,” spat Q. “What you people did was downright _illegal.”_

Moneypenny gave a helpless shrug of her shoulders, hands reaching out to Q beseechingly, but before she could say more, the comm on her table sounded.

Her boss’s clipped voice came in, “Ms Moneypenny, has the Grandmaster arrived yet?”

Moneypenny froze. “He’s here, sir,” she said and crossed the room to open the oak-paneled door that led to M’s office. She had to nudge Q in before shutting the door behind him.

Seated at his table, laden with papers, M looked up, then paused. Then he looked down at the papers in front of him once again as though there was some mistake. When he was satisfied that there could be none of that, he stood and, extending a hand, said, “Grandmaster.”

Q swallowed. “Sir,” he said, clasping the hand in a firm but brief handshake. “I apologize for my tardiness. Something urgent…has come up.”

“Indeed it has,” M said dryly as he took his seat. He flipped through the parchment pages in front of him, and Q realized that it was his file.

“You were born and raised in Cymru and only moved to Loegria ten years ago when you were accepted into the Academy. Even so, you’ve managed to do brilliantly. According to your teachers, you’re the brightest of your generation and, at twenty-eight, the youngest to earn the title of Grandmaster.”

Q stared back as M gazed at him speculatively, not sure how to respond to all that. He wasn’t even sure if a reply was necessary, so he merely cleared his throat and murmured, “sir.”

“So tell me,” said M, “for a person so smart, how did you end up signing that?”

He gestured at the roll of parchment that Q clutched in one hand. It was crumpled, badly mutilated. In his state of panic earlier, Q had even tried to tear it to pieces, but it had magically come together again. He’d thrown it into the fire and it wouldn’t catch flame.

“You know about this,” breathed Q.

“I was made aware of it only this morning,” said M, his flat tone invoking his displeasure. “It’s hardly orthodox, but I do see the point. You do have the necessary qualifications that we desperately need.”

“But this…this is illegal,” said Q as he slapped the offending document on M’s desk.

“It’s sanctioned by His Majesty’s government, and therefore, completely lawful.”

“I mean the agreement was obtained by deceitful means. It can’t possibly hold.”

“It's holding now. The binding spells are intact,” M observed unhelpfully. “Your signature is still there and hasn’t dissolved.”

“I was tricked into signing this pact last night,” Q said. “I was blind drunk. On that basis, I absolutely cannot go through with…with whatever is written here. Nobody told me anything about a quest for the King’s hand!”

M’s mouth was a white, hard line. “It is indeed unfortunate that you didn't bother reading the fine print,” he said. “However, you did sign of your own accord, and furthermore, you meant it at the time. Those are the only requirements for the spells to do their work.”

“It can be broken,” insisted Q as he fixed M with a hard stare. “I mean to break it, and I need to speak to one of your men who goes by the name of James Bond.”

M looked away. “That’s not possible,” he said. He then tapped his comm. “Ms. Moneypenny, you may bring in the tea.”

“Yes, sir.”

An empty side table covered by a white tablecloth was suddenly laden with a heavy tea service and cake stand, complete with dainty cakes and sandwiches.

Q was too busy to notice. “While the binding powers of this kind of magical contract are strong,” he argued fiercely, rushing on and not paying attention to M at all, “they are by no means unbreakable. If we can just find that man, that James Bond, from last night, I’ll be able to break the spell and–”

“It’s not going to happen,” drawled a low voice from the doorway. They had not noticed the door open to admit the man at all. He’d come in unannounced as was his custom and Q’s voice had drowned his approach.

“Oh, that’s him,” said Q, surprised, as they turned toward the newcomer. “That’s Mr. Bond. But how–?”

M rose from his seat and gave Bond a small head bow. “Your Majesty,” he said simply.

Q felt his mouth drop open upon hearing the words. He’d thought perhaps that this was some sort of mistake– a prank. Yet how could it be when this man, James Bond, and the elusive King at whose pleasure he lived and breathed were one and the same? 

“Uncle,” said Bond as he advanced into the room with the leisurely prowl of a lion. He stopped a few feet away from Q and gave him an amused tilt of the head. “Good to see you again, Grandmaster.”

“You could have told me,” M admonished the King, who was still his nephew. “I could have made my own arrangements.”

“And have it fail just like all the others?” returned Bond— rather, the King. “Time is running out. The first of the tournaments is due to start in a week’s time.”

“I can’t.” Q was numb, but the words slipped out anyway, uttered in a small squeak.

Bond turned to him and, if anything, his smile merely widened. “I’m afraid you can’t refuse, Q,” he said. “The die has been cast. Don’t worry though, I’ve got your back.”

“But I can’t…I don’t know how to spar, to fight.” Now that he’d regained use of it, Q’s voice was rising on a high, thin note of panic.

“You won’t,” assured the King. “Leave that to me, but I need you to be my Quartermaster.”

 _“Oh.”_ Q’s stiff shoulders suddenly sagged in relief. All of a sudden, he felt faint.

M sighed. “I think tea would be necessary at this point,” he said.

They moved off to the tea table just as Q’s legs gave way and he sank down into a chair.

When they returned, it was the King who bore Q a cup of steaming tea and a platter of cakes and sandwiches.

“First rule between us,” he informed Q. “Never think to refuse me in anything. Now eat. You look like you need it.”

Q had, in fact, missed lunch, so he swallowed his instant refusal and put out two meek hands to accept the platter and tea. “Thank you…Your Majesty.”

“Good,” said Bond as he sat opposite him, beside M. “You will need some background information, now that you’re sober enough to listen carefully.”

Bond glanced at M, who began, “the tournament was our only way of staving off war. During His Majesty’s…absence, Her Majesty the Queen Dowager—my sister— and I had managed to strike a deal that will prevent Gallia, Alsatia, Almain and Hesperia from launching full-scale invasions against us. Instead, they had been tied into a gentleman’s agreement in the form of a tournament, magically binding, to win the hand of His Majesty by each sending a champion to fight a duel with our own chosen warrior.”

Q sat stiffly in his seat, tea in hand, and glanced from one man to the other in front of him as though they had gone mad. “Okaaaay,” he said slowly, trying to frantically digest what had just been thrown at him. “So…so long as that warrior isn’t me…”

“Of course not, Q,” said His Majesty impatiently. “We will make use of a small loophole in the rules which technically does not disqualify me from fighting on my own behalf, but I will need you to help me create my persona, an amalgamation of you and me, and bearing your name which you have signed on that parchment. I will also need you to arm me against four extremely powerful and deadly opponents. I am granting you full powers to use anything at your disposal to help me, be it by magic or machine, or a combination of both.”

“But…wouldn’t that be considered cheating?” said Q cautiously. He flinched when the King barked out a laugh.

“My dear innocent,” said His Majesty. “Do you really think the likes of Ernst Stavro Blofeld, Le Chiffre, Dominic Greene and Raul Silva will stick to honourable means to obtain their objective?”

“I…I don’t know these people,” mumbled Q miserably.

The King nodded. “Which is why your education starts now,” he said. “Trust me when I say these men have got powerful wizards from their home countries to back them. Some of them are wizards in their own right. Consider it the highest honor that you are serving your country in this manner. You will need to move into the palace. I’ve prepared a suite of rooms for you next to mine. You will need to be get acquainted with the Court, particularly my mother. After this meeting you shall pack your things and be on your way. I shall expect you tonight at dinnertime.”

“But, sir…” Q said tentatively.

“Yes?”

Q’s argument melted into nothing under that pale gaze. Instead he glanced at the tattered parchment that still lay on M’s desk.

The King seemed to understand. “It was prepared by the Head Grandmaster under absolute secrecy,” he said. “He won’t be able to tell a soul without his tongue falling out of his head, quite literally.”

“Ah,” said Q, his mouth twisting in an ironic smile. “No wonder he refused to see me earlier.”

His Majesty’s lips tilted into a smirk. “It required a person pure of heart to sign his or her name in the utmost sincerity,” he explained. “That was the only requirement. Otherwise the signature will not hold. Yours is practically… indelible.”

Q could feel himself flushing.

“None of our knights nor any of your elders in the Academy could stick by it,” complained the King. “You were my last chance and I could not risk you saying yes but meaning no deep inside when the full set of circumstances is made known to you. Fight for your country, Q. That is all I ask of you.”

“But, sir,” pressed Q, feeling the color rise to his cheeks. “About the…the clause involving your hand, Your Majesty.”

The King’s smirk turned into a full smile. “I won’t hold you to that,” he promised. “If you are so averse to the notion.”

“No, it’s not…I mean,” floundered Q, embarrassed.

“We’ll cross the bridge when we get there,” said His Majesty. “The spell binding us will only be broken when we win the tournament, or when I am dead.”

“Naturally, you must hold whatever we have said in absolute secrecy,” said M. “I will transfer a million pieces of gold immediately at your disposal, and you may engage the services of any of your colleagues in the Academy provided you have discussed it with His Majesty and myself. Are there any questions?”

Mutely, Q shook his head.

“There will be, soon enough,” said His Majesty. He nodded at Q. “Now try the tea, it’s excellent.”

Q looked down at the cup that he held with a trembling hand. It was a wonder all the contents had not sloshed out. He steadied his hand and cautiously took a sip as His Majesty watched him.

“Good man,” said the King, smiling, when he finished. “I look forward to getting to know you, Q.”

* * *

**More author’s notes:** Please do not be offended if you happen to be from the “enemy countries” mentioned and which are lightly veiled with equivalent names, as they are meant to be fictional countries in this story; but, if you are interested, their derivatives are:

Cymru- Wales

Loegria- England

Gallia- France

Almain- Germany

Hesperia- Spain

Great Britain will remain as Brittania, unless you guys can help me out and suggest better alternative names for one or all of them. Would greatly appreciate it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes:** This fic has not been updated for more than six months but I swear it ain't dead yet and as proof, here's the next chapter! Enjoy! Do send the Muse some love by giving her some comments. We ADORE hearing from you!

* * *

True to her word, Moneypenny came in the royal carriage late that afternoon to fetch him.

It was all too soon. Q could barely remember how he’d passed the time, he’d been in such a panic tossing all his clothes, books and other relevant stuff into his trunks. No sooner had he declared himself ready with his baggage and he would then remember he’d forgotten to pack this potion or that important alchemical ingredient into his satchels.

“You can always have them sent to the palace,” remarked Moneypenny as she watched Q pace up and down the length of his workshop, gathering materials as he muttered distractedly to himself. “You won’t need everything all at once, anyway.”

After what seemed like his tenth lap in front of her, Moneypenny got a hold of his wrist and swung him around to face her. “Q,” she said gently as she looked him in the eye. “You’re going to be just fine, don’t worry. We’re all behind you on this.”

Q gave her an unhappy twist of his mouth. “How do you know? Do you have any idea what’s ahead of me? Have you even seen him?” he said.

“Who?” Moneypenny inquired, puzzled.

Q made a vague gesture with one hand. _“Him_. The King, of course,” he said. "Bond."

Moneypenny lifted an amused brow. “Yes, I _have_ seen him,” she said with a teasing _oh-I-see_ lilt in her voice. “Who hasn’t?”

“Me, apparently,” muttered Q darkly. “And will you please be serious for a moment, Moneypenny!”

Moneypenny quelled the grin spreading on her face as she signaled for the royal porters to start carrying out Q’s luggage. It also signaled a change in topic, Q was grateful to note.

“Please be careful with the cats,” he called out, unable to keep the sharp edge from his voice as one of the porters accidentally banged one of the wicker baskets containing Jasper and Onyx against a chair on his way out, eliciting a loud hiss from one of the baskets’ occupants.

“Look,” she said as Q turned back to her. “I know he can be…daunting—”

“I think scary is a better word to describe him,” supplied Q helpfully.

“He can be daunting and scary, but he’s also generous to a fault,” said Moneypenny. “He rewards loyalty and good service and he appreciates honesty, no matter how bald and brutal. Make sure to use that to your advantage when you’re dealing with him.”

“You seem to know him very well,” remarked Q suspiciously as they stepped out of his house. He had to secure the lock with a spell that he passed on to Moneypenny.

Moneypenny shrugged. “I’ve worked with him,” she said laconically.

“Ah,” said Q flippantly. “I forgot. He also dallied part-time as a spy when he wasn’t busy being a prince of the realm.”

Moneypenny merely smiled at him. “It was useful,” she said, “for him.”

Q stared at her, then rolled his eyes. “I really dislike it when you’re being totally enigmatic,” he said huffily.

Moneypenny’s smile widened and she refused to explain herself by saying, “and you are hopelessly cute when you’re irritated. Be careful that you don’t bewitch him with your personal charms.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem,” Q said shortly.

For all his touchiness, Q could not help but heave a heavy sigh as they settled into the carriage’s luxurious interior. Perhaps a few days ago and without that magically binding contract hanging over his head, he might have regarded this sudden change in his fortunes with something akin to pleasure.

Now, as he turned to the rearview window to watch his tiny and hopelessly untidy house disappear inexorably behind them, he could not help but feel bereft.

For the first time in his sheltered and academic life, he was going places—where to, nobody knew, exactly. Except, perhaps, his new master.

He was on his way to a new home.

* * *

The ride took a while and along the way, Moneypenny wasted no time in giving him a crash course on royal etiquette— enough to survive a royal dinner with the Queen Dowager, anyway.

“When you’re presented to her, you will bow to her from the neck, like so,” she said, showing him. “And when she gives you her hand, which is a high mark of favor, by the way, you shall kiss the air an inch or so above it. Do not, under any circumstance, allow your lips to make contact with the royal hand!”

“And if she doesn’t give me the royal hand?” Q quipped.

“Then back off,” replied Moneypenny. “Quickly!”

By the time they got to the palace, Q’s head was swimming with the absurdity of Moneypenny’s manifold instructions and he wasn’t sure if he could remember half of them.

But first, the sight of his quarters effectively put all exasperated thoughts and worries to the back of his mind. As soon as they got down from the carriage, they were met by a liveried footman who showed them into a suite of rooms after climbing innumerable sets of stairs and going through countless corridors, richly tapestried and carpeted.

Once they were shown inside, Q gaped at his sitting room and bedroom, which must surely be larger than his entire house. Moneypenny went straight for the bed— a mile wide, surely, and heaped with fluffy pillows— and flopped herself down just as more liveried servants came in with Q’s things. After a rather confused exchange with them, Q learned that the three servants were to be his personal retainers.

“You don’t have to lift a finger,” said Moneypenny while Q stared, nonplussed, as one of his newly appointed minions disappeared into the bathroom to prepare his bath. “Anything you want, they can get for you. Just tell them so.”

Q was silent for a moment as he watched the low-key flurry of the servants around the massive room as they started unpacking his things. He turned to Moneypenny and said rather haplessly, “right. Can I tell them that I want out of here now?”

Moneypenny gave a soft laugh as she made to stand from the bed. “I’m afraid anything except that, love,” she said. “And I have to get going. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

 _Don’t go_ , he was perilously close to whining, so Q bit his lip and nodded after a moment.

“I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon,” she reassured him. “Send me a message if you need anything, and…”

Moneypenny paused as she eyed Q closely. He raised his eyebrows at her after a moment as she continued to regard him speculatively.

“No matter what happens, show him no fear,” said Moneypenny as she leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Ta. Bye, then, love.”

* * *

Q had his bath in his marble and gold bathroom, a little palace all to its own. He sat in the steaming waters, fragrant with scented oil that smelled of the forest and rare blooms. His distracted mind was shaking its head at the realization that he had got himself some gold bath taps. He wondered whether he ought to pinch himself and see if this was all real. He resisted the overwhelming urge to bite at his nails.

He found formal evening clothes decked out neatly on the bed, ready for him, when he emerged from his bath. His first instinct was to shoo away the two servants who hovered nearby, but they would have none of it as they politely began to dress him, much to his protests.

Face flaming, he found himself in his underwear, donning an immaculate, starched shirt and black trousers, a silver-grey, patterned vest and black tuxedo tie, followed by a black tail coat that set his slim figure to perfection, if he could say so himself.

He flatly refused the pomade though, or what looked like it in a jar when it was presented to him, to tame his hair.

When he was ready, he was led down the endless, plush corridors and staircases once again, until he and his bearer stood outside a grand, gilded door. His companion gave a firm knock before opening the door and ushering him inside.

“The Grandmaster Llewellyn Rowland, Your Majesty,” announced the bearer in solemn tones as Q stood stiffly to attention.

He was expecting the Queen Dowager. What he was not expecting was Bond— the King— standing there with a martini glass in hand, looking suave and relaxed in a less formal tuxedo jacket and tie. Q immediately felt ridiculous in his tails.

“Oh, none of that, please,” said the King easily as Q made to bow awkwardly. Instead, Bond offered his hand, and Q felt the distinct calluses from a lifetime of wielding the sword on the man’s palm as they exchanged a short but firm handshake. “You may reserve it for Her Majesty. She’ll be a bit late, by the way. Drinks?”

Q made a small noise of dubious acquiescence and a cocktail of some kind was handed over to him.

“So,” said the King, watching with some amusement as Q sipped at his drink cautiously. ”How are you faring so far? I hope they’re taking care of you properly.”

“They’ve been outstanding, Your Majesty—”

“Bond.”

Q blinked. “I’m sorry, Yo—?”

“Bond,” repeated the King. “You may as well get used to it. You can’t give the game away by calling me Majesty when the tournament starts.”

“I see,” said Q. Still, he could not help himself, “sir.”

“That’s fine,” said Bond as he turned his head to a set of inner doors opening behind them. “Ah.”

She came in, a small, commanding woman with short white hair and arresting blue eyes just like her son’s. Hers was a shade darker, noted Q, although it matched the King’s in terms of its cutting coldness. She accepted her son’s peck on the cheek before she turned that formidable gaze on Q.

“The Quartermaster, Mother,” Bond said rather carelessly and the glacier gaze of his mother swept over him for an instant before it landed back on Q.

Q gave his bow, clipped and precise just like Moneypenny taught him, and he withstood that coldly assessing scrutiny as it raked over his form. He could feel that gaze pausing as the Queen Dowager took in his hair.

Yet what she saw seemed to please her. She stretched out her hand for Q to air-kiss.

“You’ve chosen well this time,” she said, her voice cool and the words directed at the King, even as she continued to look Q over.

“Don’t I always?” returned Bond.

“No,” answered the Queen Dowager smoothly. “Not even most of the time.”

Bond’s smile merely widened as Q shot him a look. Clearly the lady was not to be trifled with.

She took Q’s arm, clearly indicating that he was to escort her to dinner. “Tell me about yourself, Quartermaster,” she said.

It was, Q supposed, their way of examining him further while he talked. Yet he found himself warming to this imperious woman, with her no-nonsense air and her cut-glass intelligence. Her calm authority was something familiar to him, something to ground him amidst the recent upheaval of his life. Evidently, she’s done her research when it came to him, and knew all about his projects at the Academy which she asked in great detail.

For the most part, Bond merely sat back and listened, watching. Q could feel that pale gaze on him while he talked and thank heavens he had no time to let it sink in and affect him. He focused instead on the Queen’s questions.

Mercifully, because this was a private dinner, there were only five short courses. Evidently the Queen disliked dawdling over the food, excellent as it were. It was still relatively early when coffee was placed before them, but the King rose to excuse himself.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast, Q,” he said, after bidding his mother good night.

“See to it that you cut your nights short from now on,” admonished the Queen without looking at Bond.

“When the tournament starts,” replied Bond, smiling as he departed.

“One of his assignations,” the Queen said briefly in reply to Q’s questioning gaze.

It took a moment for Q to understand what it meant. “Oh,” he said as he finally realized. _“Oh.”_

The Queen smiled at him as she took in his reaction. “One would think having a mistress tucked away somewhere would be enough, but to have two or three simultaneously…”

Q found his mouth hanging open slightly and moved to shut it in as polite and unobtrusive a manner as possible.

“Which is why I am relieved he’s chosen you,” continued the Queen. “Clearly he’s been using his head, for once.”

Q blinked at her rather owlishly as the implications sank in: _he’s been using his head, not his heart, or dick, when he chose you._ Because the King would not find him remotely attractive. Why would he, especially when he had to resort to what he did just to bind him to that bloody contract?

And, really, he could not account for the weird, sinking feeling inside him at the realization. Had he expected anything else?

“Has His Majesty told you about the manner in which I was recruited?” inquired Q.

“Yes, I am aware,” said the Queen as she gazed back at him without apology. “It is a matter of state. Nobody had any choice.”

Unperturbed by his thoughts, the Queen continued, “You must understand. My son has a way about him with people, especially the ones who get close enough to him for any period of time. It’s a gift or a curse, depending on the recipient and how they will think to deal with him. I hope you shall remain clear-headed throughout the difficult task ahead of you, Q.”

Q did not know what to make of any of that, so he said nothing.

“And if you feel you shall need to distance yourself emotionally from him…”

Q stared at the vial that the Queen suddenly had in one hand. “It’s my own recipe,” she said. “I do some potions on my own, though I am sure they’re quite outdated and nowhere near as potent as yours, Quartermaster.”

Q found himself shaking his head helplessly. “You’re too kind, Your Majesty,” was all he said.

“Take it,” urged the Queen. “And call me M. His Majesty has already explained the necessity to you, I think.”

Q nodded. “He has, yes.”

“Technically you don’t exist. You’re not here. You are your signature on that piece of magical parchment, but you are someone else. Nobody must know who you really are. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The Queen’s smile was threaded with some warmth this time and a great deal of relief. “Good. I should like for you to join me at tea every day, when your schedule permits,” she said.

She wanted updates from him. That much, Q understood.

He nodded mutely.

The Queen nodded as she made to stand up. “We will get along well together, I’m sure,” she said as she gave Q her hand once more, a clear dismissal.

“Good night, your Majesty.”

* * *

He could not remember how he got back to his rooms, much less how he managed to get into his pajamas. The servants must have led him back and undressed him for bed, but right now he stood with the Queen’s glass vial in hand, his thoughts in a tumult, worse than they had ever been throughout this whirlwind of a day.

If he were not mistaken, the Queen—M— had just handed him an anti-love potion. If that was even the term for it. Witches’ brews were not his strong suit.

Really, as if today could not get any weirder, things had just rounded a corner and turned fucking _bizzare._

There was no way he would ever fall in love with the King. There was no way he possibly _could._

The man was just too scary. Too awesome. Definitely, Q knew better than to forge some sort of attachment to him, especially not after how Bond had managed to trick him into signing that blasted parchment.

 _Show him no fear,_ Moneypenny had said to him.

 _Easier said than done_ , he would have wanted to snort. But he would get around Bond, sooner or later, he’d already decided. Nobody could do something like this to him and get away with it.

He would work for King and country, but there his obligations ended. Afterward, King or not, he would have his way with Bond, mainly through his finances and the advancement of his career. He’d be made for life! In the meantime, he would protect himself with some spells and avoid getting too close to the man. There would be no need for the Queen’s potion.

Having made up his mind, he opened the drawer to his bedside table and placed the vial inside. He thought no more of it as he slipped into bed, fully feeling the fatigue as it finally hit home.

It was, he would realize later, his first and greatest mistake.


End file.
